


They're Gonna Clean Up Your Looks

by DiscoCritic



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Blindness, Gen, after "na na na", before "sing", oof angst, poor jet, this is not jetpoison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 15:11:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17645168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscoCritic/pseuds/DiscoCritic
Summary: jet star wakes up and he suddenly can't see out of his right eye.





	They're Gonna Clean Up Your Looks

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! this is a slight AU (at least for me it is, i headcanon jet lost his eye at the end of “na na na” while fighting to save the girl) but i was writing this and realized the girl wasn’t mentioned at all. so in this the girl is nonexistent here. but there still was a big fight and all that. anyway. enjoy.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Water leaked from a pipe.

The sound was irritating, but he couldn’t tune it out. He couldn’t even muster the strength to lift his head.

Muffled voices. They were familiar, somehow.

A wet cloth was draped across his eyes. The warmth that dampened his skin was welcome, soothing the painful burning all over his face.

Burning?

He reached up numbly and tried to pull off the cover. But his fingers, clumsy and uncoordinated, barely brushed it. His skin suddenly stung, white-hot sensations flashing through his mind. The cruel pain hit him all at once, starting by his eye and traveling downward throughout his whole body. It was like fire, it was like he’d been plunged until hell.

He blacked out.

* * *

“Jet?”

Fog.

It drifted in the air, thick, swirling and dancing around his face. He lifted a heavy hand and tried to catch it.

“Jet?”

The voice again. It was worried.

“I’m gonna take the cloth off now.”

The fabric was removed and light spilled onto his face.

He heard a stifled gasp.

He blinked, and the pain came flooding back.

A face swam into view.

But only on the left side.

“Party?” His voice was hoarse, cracked. Weak.

He tried to open his other eye.

But it was already open.

He just couldn’t see out of it at all.

Party Poison spoke quietly. “What do you remember?”

Nothing.

Wait.

Something.

A firefight.

Vaguely.

“A clap?”

A shuddering breath. “We lost bad. Kobra’s gotta concussion. Ghoul’s mouth is fucked up; he’s gonna have a Chelsea smile on the right side now. And—” He stopped suddenly, looking anywhere but at Jet.

“Wha’s wrong with my eye?” Jet said shakily. His throat was raw and every word hurt.

“I’m sorry.” Party didn’t answer and this only further dredged up the fear creeping its way up his chest.

“ _Tell me_ why can’t I see outta that eye.” He raised his voice as terror shot through his bones.

“You got hit in the middle of the fight. Me an’ Ghoul tried to help, but there was nothing we could do.”

Party held up a cracked mirror that had seemingly materialized at his side, and Jet craned his neck to see his reflection.

The skin around his eye was burned a shining pink, and the eyelid was nicked at the bottom. Half of his eyelashes were missing and his eyebrow was scorched. His eyeball was the worst, though. A filmy glaze covered the iris, and red filled the sclera. Dried blood caked the skin around his entire eye.

Red.

So much.

Like the color of Party Poison's hair.

The red was too much.

“No,” he whispered. No. No. No no no no no no no no no no.

“I’m sorry.”

It pushed him over the edge. The ache in his face moved to his heart.

And it morphed back into hell, hell in his pain and in his chest, pounding, wanting to escape, and he screamed and screamed until his voice gave out.

And then he was silent for a long time.


End file.
